Paper Tigers
by Remington Rand
Summary: "He was forgetting more and more of Draco Malfoy, pureblood wizard, and not Draco Malfoy, bastard son of one of the city's best attorneys. Of everything that had been real, was Harry Potter the seemingly only person that didn't exist? Why was he the one he clung so much to?" Angst & Non-magic AU. Set during books 4 and 5.
1. Chapter 1

_This is an old fic I've been meaning to put up for a while. I'm currently revising the last few chapters, but they should all be up soon. Please review if you can, I would greatly appreciate any feedback or suggestions, and thanks for reading!_

_o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o_

"The defendant will be remanded to Atton Hospital for the duration of the trial."

The hand on his shoulder was heavy, something reminiscent of his own father's, whose eyes were still following him in the silent room, his mother's hysterical sobs even muted to him. The chains, binding his hands and feet, jangled as the hand forced him to shuffle along. That sound, oddly, was the only one that registered in his head—the sound of being bound.

And yet never before had he felt so free.

The giant above him, wild-looking even with a shaved beard and buzzcut, eyed him stoically as he waited for the transport vehicle to pull up. A vague image of a man with wild hair, a long beard, and warm eyes fluttered through Draco's mind, leaving as quickly as it arose. It was just the two of them—the giant man who'd hardly said a word but yet spoke just enough with his actions, and Draco, who was fairly certain he himself hadn't said a word since he was a toddler. In a way they were alike, despite the fact that the two were contrasting in every way—his overseer large and bulky, intimidating, no-nonsense demeanor, and Draco, small and lithe, more like prey to the others at school rather than someone to avoid.

The truck roared, one man jumping out from the right passenger seat to open the doors to the back. The windows were covered with bars, and it was more like a tin can than anything else.

"Best get in, then, 'aven't got all day, Malfoy," his burly counterpart gruffly muttered, pushing him toward the cage.

He shut his eyes.

"_How many times, Draco, do I have to tell you to not track mud in the house? Are you deaf as well as dumb, you daft boy?" _

_Some boys after school had followed him, teamed up on him. Pushed him around. Nothing too rough, really, but it had been wet outside and Draco had slipped, his trousers sopping with mud as the others laughed._

_Draco said nothing. Why would it have mattered? His father had arrived in a cross mood, which always happened when a case wasn't going his way. _

_When he was in a cross mood, he always needed a way to…expel it. _

_This time Draco had been so buried in his thoughts, in his mind, that he actually heard the crack of contact before he even felt it._

_And all that was left was darkness._

"'Ay, boy, wake up. We're here."

Draco's head snapped, and he looked around, mostly curious of his new surroundings.

He saw his father waiting at the door. Draco tried not to meet his eyes.

Cracked ceilings dotted the entryway. The paint was chipping alongside the rusted metal. There were two entries, really—the first, which had a heavier lock and thus required a key, code, and office approval, was more of a hassle to get to than the second. It had a padlock.

He reached the nurse's station. The same ceiling lamp was there, the one that never seemed to stay still, always going to and fro. A moth weakly fluttered around it.

Draco noted that the bars on the windows seemed new. Probably a donation.

The nurse on call today was Pomfrey. Draco preferred her to the other head nurse, a prim woman named Dolores Umbridge who always seemed to have a reason to send someone to solitary.

Pomfrey's face twisted. Her eyes said all that they needed to—she was sad to see him. "Oh, Draco," she sighed, with her telltale headshake. The headshake meant something was going on with the higher ups.

"You'll be in six, dear. I don't think any of the others you knew are here, we'll do introductions in a few hours, okay? Once we get all of this paperwork sorted out." There was a pause as papers were shuffled. "We're at a record low this time. There were only five residents."

_Were. _Draco was the sixth. In room six. At six supper would start and there would be introductions.

Tomorrow was the sixth.

The slow panic lapped around him, rattling the chains still around his feet and hands, planning full well to strike at the best time.

The guard looked at him suspiciously. Draco tried to ignore the claws wrapped around his chest. He knew this place like the back of his hand but still looked around. Just to be sure it was how he left it.

To his left were two rooms, the place where they had meals on metal tins and each utensil was numbered as to ensure they would return at the end of mealtime. Medicines were also delivered there. There were two rows of four tables, eight seats at each row. The second room, neighbored to the cafeteria, was the room where they had Group and participated in activities.

It was also the room where the one TV existed, something held so precious to the point where there had to be nightly 'turns'. From seven to nine was free time, so everyone shared what shows they would like to watch and a schedule would be drawn up.

Draco thought it a waste of hospital resources, but the nurses thought less squabbles made for a healthier environment.

Right now there were four others in the activity room staring at him curiously. They must have ended Group early due to his arrival. Three girls, one boy. Draco wondered where the fifth resident might be.

On his right was the long corridor, the one with all the residents' rooms, the elevator at the very end of the hallway. One floor up was where solitary was.

His father stared at him, and the tap of his cane clicking against the floor made him flinch. The serpent on the hand rest glaring at him, eyes twinkly malevolently. This was _his_ place, Draco's place. _He_ wasn't supposed to be here. But yet he was, bright hair gleaming in the fluorescent light, eyes glittering with something Draco figured was supposed to represent some shred of emotion. But he had learned long ago that his father didn't feel things, simply played whatever part he needed to in order to preserve his image.

A loud crack split the silence, like the sound of brief rap of a cane on his back. Draco flinched again, but no one else noticed the sound. But they noticed his reaction. It was no matter. His father was gone. He relaxed slightly.

It wasn't the most beautiful place in the world, but it was home to him.

The hum of the furnace filled up the room. Draco's head lulled back, the claw loosening in his chest.

"Oh, undo those chains! He isn't going to hurt anyone." Pomfrey sniped to the guard. The four curious residents had moved closer, two hugging the walls of the entry way to the cafeteria.

For once it was more of an admirable silent curiosity, not the sort he'd encountered before.

"_If it looks like a twink, walks like a twink, and doesn't talk, is it still a twink?"_

"_Does he ever talk? He must be retarded, not bonkers. Why waste my time with him here?"_

The chains loosened, and Draco rubbed his wrists, moving to tuck one silvery strand of hair behind his ear. Pomfrey grew slightly less ruffled and put one hand on his shoulder.

"Protocol, ma'am, in cases like this." The guard muttered, looking at her like she was the crazy one.

"Regardless, I have him now. You may leave. I'll have our doctor fax you the paperwork we need."

"But, ma'am, the paperwork clearly states he needs to be held in a high-security setting and this does not—"

"For goodness sake! Are you questioning my ability to decide whether or not I can handle a patient? After thirteen years as head nurse? Look, with budget cuts, this is what you get. Hand him to me or deal with disciplinary action."

Truthfully, it was probably more to do with the fact that placing Draco anywhere else would have had more of a public shitstorm, which would have smeared the family reputation more. The Atton Center (they didn't like calling it a hospital, though that's what it was) had a history of…losing case files for the right sum of money.

"W-well, no, ma'am, not at all—"

"And stop calling me ma'am! Do I look like an old lady to you?"

The guard opened his mouth, gaped for a moment, and then closed it. "Thank you for your services ma'am. Have a good night." He turned and left, the chains in his hands.

"Wise man," Pomfrey muttered to Draco, out of earshot to the audience near them. She waited for him to turn to the corridor. Unlike the others, Pomfrey never pushed him along. She let him take his time.

The bold six painted on the front of the door winked at him, hissing like the snakes that haunted him when he lived in the attic.

"Right now your roommate is at his session, so you have the place to yourself for a bit. Here's the bed—" The stout woman stopped herself with a sad sort of laugh. "Of course you know where everything is. You know where I am if you need anything, dear."

His things had been waiting for him before he arrived. Opening the suitcase, he found that his mother had folded his best clothes, including the emerald wool vest his father had gotten him the day he announced a promotion and needed new family portraits.

He hated that vest.

The rest of the clothing was the standard—grey trousers, white button-up dress shirt, and dress jacket. All useless in a place like this.

Draco had packed his suitcase before he went to trial. These things hadn't been in it. The only thing that was truly his was hidden, anyway, in a secret compartment at the base of the suitcase. He checked, sighing audibly when his hands wrapped around a familiar pocketwatch. It was the only thing of his father's he found useful.

He knew, as clear as day and remembered as vividly as possible, that six months ago he was packing his books and getting ready to go back to school again. Hogwarts was where he was supposed to be. To be in Slytherin and lead Crabbe and Goyle along like dogs.

"_Draco, do you now understand that…this school, these people—they aren't the ones you know them to be? Pomfrey is a nurse here. Crabbe is the janitor. Harry Potter is not here, and this…Slytherin, as you call it—it's not a house. _

_Hogwarts does not exist, Draco. I need to hear you say that to me."_

_Even if I saw and felt the stunning spells, the time I got my first wand? Draco thought. _

"_Draco? Will you be able to say that?"_

_Draco looked up, his eyes matching the dark, serious gaze of his psychiatrist._

"_Hogwarts isn't real, Dr. Snape. I know that now."He lied, the words spilling out roughly, like his throat found the very act of speaking a painful action. It was always odd to hear his own voice, and so very rare._

It hadn't lasted this long before. Being…in this place. Draco remembered snippets of things in the past from this life, but what was worse was that somehow being stuck here had begun to ebb away at his memories of wizardry, of the life he led there, of the impending war.

All he remembered now was how it felt to fly on a broom. What he wouldn't give to feel that again, just once. And Harry Potter. He remembered Harry Potter. His vitriol was less severe toward him now. But there was a reason to hate him. Draco was certain.

Even though…

"_You went away to Hogwarts again. I missed you. But now you're back, right? Can I sign your cast?"_

"_Wanna know a secret? You're my little cousin and that makes you blood, and I'll protect you with all I've got, Dragon. Dudley doesn't count. You're my favourite."_

"_I lied, Draco, your dad asked and I lied for you like you wanted me too but he found out, Draco, I think they're after me again. I think Voldemort _is _Tom Riddle and I think he's after both of us."_

A voice brought him out of his thoughts. "You're Draco, huh?"

Familiar voices started whipping around in his head.

"…_the heir of Slytherin…"_

It was a tall, lanky redheaded boy, at least two years older than him. He looked pale and tired and spoke in a rough tone, like he'd just woken up. When he reached out to shake his hand, the boy said, "I'm Fred."

It was in the moment that Draco actually looked at him, looked at the person in front of him, that he realized something was off. His expression must have given something away because the boy half-smiled and shrugged.

"I, uh, tried to shoot myself. It didn't exactly…go as planned."

One side of his skull had caved in slightly, giving him the appearance of looking off-kilter. When he turned to take a seat on his bed, his left leg dragged slightly, and that was when the pieces fell into place.

"Blind in one eye too, but hey, they have me locked up in this place. Can't do much 'til I get out and set it right." The boy froze, looked over. Draco shook his head; it wasn't his place to say anything, not in a place that wasn't real, anyway.

"_Seven days, this time, Draco. I think that's enough time to reflect on what you've done." Draco's silent tears seemed to amuse the man he referred to as Father._

_The cellar door creaked as it swung shut. He shut his eyes, for what seemed like an eternity, because he couldn't stand looking at the cellar. At the grimy window, boarded up. At the small cot at one corner, and the small bathroom with only a sink and toilet. Father had spent a pretty penny on Draco's prison._

_When he opened his eyes again, his cheeks were dry, and his hand was on a wooden door. His father was there, muttering, "Stop playing with the cupboard, Draco. It's not a toy."_

_He never ceased to find Borgin and Burke's interesting. Draco never did know where those cupboards could take him, though. He sometimes had the feeling he didn't want to know, but his curiosity got the better of him, until Lucius put one firm hand on his shoulder and pushed him along._

Pomfrey appeared in the doorway. "Dinner time boys, let's go."

Draco closed his eyes as he passed the door.

He still heard the hissing.


	2. Chapter 2

Dinnertime was not exactly something Draco was looking forward to. It meant introductions. It meant meeting new people, people who looked at him like a zoo animal.

Before everyone was allowed to eat, Pomfrey stood up with Draco and said, "Everyone, this is Draco. Do your best to make him feel comfortable, won't you? How about we go around sharing a bit about ourselves?"

Fred went first. "I'm your roommate. You met me. I'm here because I can't aim a shotgun right."

Laughter followed. It was a way to deal with things, Draco supposed. Make things hurt less. That's what Draco did, didn't he? He made this hospital, and these people, all so much like people he knew at Hogwarts, in order to make things hurt less?

He simply wished he could remember _why _he would ever want to leave Hogwarts. And why this cousin-Harry was the only person he could say he loved; he was his brother, his friend, Draco hated the Dursleys, and all they did. Though he still disliked wizard-Harry with every fiber of his Slytherin being, he was slowly forgetting why. Perhaps it had something to do with the war? Perhaps he was being kept prisoner somewhere? Perhaps he had made an uneasy alliance with the Gryffindor he called his enemy?

The idea left him with a sinking feeling in his chest. Not knowing why was maddening. Draco was certain that, if only, somehow, he could figure out the _why, _he could go back and not stay here. At the hospital, Draco was afforded the time and opportunity he didn't get otherwise to try to return, and stay for good. Then he had another thought: how long had he been away? Was it too long? Was he stuck here? The claw's grip in his chest returned.

A girl with an upturned nose and a malicious stare looked at him. She had dark hair reaching her chin. All of her features seemed to suggest unkindness—matronly clothing, a stern expression. In fact the only thing that suggested otherwise was her voice: something between whining and just a grating tone. "I'm Pansy. For the record, I don't see why we have to share. We know you're a mute, so why do _we _have to participate in something and _he _gets special—"

"Pansy, that's enough." Pomfrey sighed, looking at him apologetically.

"We already know he's here because _Mommy and Daddy _made sure he'd come here rather than _prison _where he should rot like the others!"

"_Pansy!" _Pomfrey all but roared, causing the girl to cross her arms and stare at him petulantly.

_His father, dressed to impress, in the courtroom. Facing him, mocking him. "You're in chains, like they way I should have left you in the cellar. I specifically told you not to tell your mother about those things you thought about! They're foolish, stupid things, not worth the money to throw at. And then to think you can sneak away to that bastard Snape? How dare he turn on me! The press would just lap this up."_

_That was always his excuse. The press. The eyes. _

"The rest of you, introduce yourselves, so we can eat sometime soon," Fred muttered to the three across from him.

"I'm Hermione." She was a mousy-looking girl, with bushy hair and glasses too big for her narrow face, cheekbones creating sharp edges, stretching her pale skin. Mudblood Hermione. Draco nearly whispered the word out of surprise, but caught himself. No need to draw attention. Still, the blonde marveled at this caricature of the ever-exhausting, ever-too serious Granger who followed Harry and Weasley around like a mutt.

But there was more that was different about her than Draco realized initially. It wasn't her hair or glasses that looked too big. She was a skeleton, a shadow of the girl he used to hate. The book in her lap was wider than her legs pressed together as she was sitting. She was so pitiful, he couldn't draw up any contempt for her.

The boy next to her looked at him blankly. Draco's chest jumped at the sight of him. He remembered the night Harry Potter had announced Voldermort's revival and said that Cedric was dead.

"Cedric." Flat, emotionless. He could have been handsome, with blonde hair and light eyes. The typical guy girls go after. But one look in his eyes? It was obvious. He wasn't…_right._

"_Take this once a day, and take this one at night, because it makes you sleepy. And if you feel anything strange at all, just call me, Draco, okay?"_

_But he'd always stop taking them. He hid them in an old pocketwatch, emptied of its contents. What good was time to him? At least this way he could ensure the pills stayed hidden._

_And he waited to remember, to find his way back, in the cellar._

Everything was still pieces and fragments though. Though he remembered the people of Hogwarts the clearest, he was still uncertain of the order of things, of the lives they'd lived. He didn't even remember first years' basic Potions nor their ingredients. Oddly, Draco also did not recall his potions professor, something that always nagged at him.

The last to introduce himself was a boy who looked significantly younger than the rest. "I'm Colin, and I know everyone else here is too much of a pussy to ask, so I will: are you a girl or boy?"

"Careful how you answer," Fred said dryly, "Colin here has a thing for a little bit of rape."

Draco remembered him. Colin was the kid with the cameras. Irritating but nonetheless seemed innocent…

"It was never proven, just an allegation—"

"Still a creep," Pansy interjected, seemingly glad to be able to say something. It was enough of a distraction for the question to go unanswered, and the argument continued.

And Pansy, the girl who'd been all over him, Hermione to his Harry. Oh, she, at least, did not seem too terribly different. Except Draco didn't expect her to try to elicit romantic interest within him here, which was a relief.

Pomfrey directed for them to separate, and as a result it left Draco with the choice to sit next to just one of the residents. He initially thought Cedric would have been easiest, less chance of conversation, but he realized how close Colin was sitting across from them and didn't want to deal with the chatter.

Fred was nice enough and his roommate, but Draco thought he was too eager to share. He just wanted silence. Pansy was obviously out, so it just left the frail girl closest to him. Hermione. It was odd to him, to sit next to a girl he usually hated so much, odd to instead feel something akin to pity for her.

Dinner was ravioli with green beans and, in Hermione's case, a bottle of Ensure. Most of the residents had realized they weren't going to get any answers with Atton's newest resident, and like most, quickly grew bored. They watched the clock. The sooner they were done with meals, the sooner they were allowed to have free time.

After twenty minutes, all but Draco and Hermione had left. It was loud in the room next to them, but being removed from them was still a pleasantry Draco decided he would enjoy.

Hermione whispered, picking at last half of the ravioli on her plate, _"This isn't even my last meal tonight."_ Tears welled up in her eyes.

Draco looked at her curiously. He wondered why he hadn't cried like that during the trial. Her eyes caught his and in them he saw something of himself, a silent pleading to be understood. For mercy. For once to not be lashed out at.

It was the same face he'd had that night in the hospital, when he woke up and there were officers around. His being bound to the bed wasn't the first thing he noticed. It was the men in blue.

Looking behind his back, where Pomfrey had gone to check on the other three in the activity room, Draco picked up his utensils and finished the rest of his meal, which had long gone cold, so he did not have to feel her familiar gaze any longer.

The entire group—they all had the nagging sense of more details, finer points, things he should remember bit couldn't, all slipping away the longer he was away. Why had he lost those things so easily?

The day he woke up in the hospital was nearly the end of fifth year. Maybe he made a healing potion? Something he'd been working on in secret? His logic was that if he was losing bits of time and losing memory, there was something wrong with his brain, and all he really needed was a potion to fix it. The fact that people needed to be highly qualified for such things escaped him.

Now he was forgetting more and more of Draco Malfoy, pureblood wizard, and not Draco Malfoy, bastard son of one of the city's best attorneys. Every day he forgot a bit more about the real Draco.

"_You and me, Draco. Like peanut butter and jam. I have to take medicine too, it's not so bad." Harry whispered, glasses slightly askew on his face, messy hair in his eyes, hiding the scar Draco knew was there. "I'll always be here."_

_Draco believed him. He was relieved, and it must have shown on his face, because Harry's face lit up with a smile, which was rare. _

_Harry didn't mind that Draco didn't say very much. He seemed to be able to read his thoughts on his face. It was why they stuck together. Harry was the voice, Draco was the protector. As long as he was around, no one could hurt him. Everything was okay, and okay was something they both needed._

Those details, the ones of Harry and Father and of everything in this world, they fluttered around him like feathers. Like paper tigers. Presenting the illusion of threat and yet showed no tangibility of it. They scared him nonetheless.

Draco was ignored for the rest of the night. Pansy made sure to glare at him and make her feelings clear, though he wasn't quite sure why she loathed him so much to begin with.

Hermione was just naturally withdrawn, her face hidden by a book. What it was about, he couldn't tell, but it eased the twist in his stomach a bit, to see something so familiar.

The three boys, even with Cedric's blank stare and Colin's oddities, had their own camaraderie. It appeared that Cedric wasn't entirely aware of the things around him, or perhaps it was just apathy, Draco couldn't tell. He was still attached to Fred and Colin, who seemed to dislike each other but yet stayed together for lack of other company.

Hearing Pomfrey call,_"Lights out!" _interjected his thoughts. It was the moment he'd been waiting for the entire day and didn't stick around to hear her say it twice.


	3. Chapter 3

Draco had been hoping that when he fell asleep at Atton's, he'd wake up again in Hogwarts like he was supposed to, or at least remember more rather than less.

The moment he awoke, he was startled to find his father looming above him. His hair was cut short, gelled back. He was wearing the suit he wore when he knew he was going to win a case—emerald tie, black vest, white dress shirt, and matching black trousers. His shoes were always shined.

"Get. Out. Of. Bed." Each word was enunciated slowly, as if Draco wouldn't have understood the directive otherwise.

He wordlessly obeyed. "Look at you. Unkempt, like a pig," Lucius snarled, "How can you sit there and ruin the family name like this? _My _son, in a place like this? If I'd had my way I'd have whipped you until you got all those foolish fantasies out of your head, but at least I'm smart enough to know when to _sacrifice _what I want for my _family,"_

The taller man leaned in, his voice no less than a hiss now, "You make me ashamed to call you my son,"

Turning on his heel, Father left as effortlessly as his cruel words had rolled off his tongue. Draco continued to stare at the empty doorway until Fred was roused by the shattering of plaster.

He wasn't sure what had happened. One moment he'd been watching his father leave and staring at the doorway and then the next he was pulling his fist out of crumbled plaster, looking at the smear of blood he'd left behind.

A stomping noise echoed down the halls, and stopped suddenly at the doorway beside him. _"Draco!" _Howled Umbridge. He blinked at her, trying to recall again what she was like at Hogwarts. How odd that she seemed the most unchanged.

Oblivious to his lack of attention, she was going on about how he apparently felt entitled to do whatever he wanted and that she was going to be sure to mention this to the doctor. To her patients were more like schoolchildren and for whatever reason had yet to be terminated from her job.

And then: "Solitary. Until the doctor can see you. I'll have a nurse clean you up and bring you breakfast until then." That woke him up. Putting up a fuss meant getting a dose of heavy sedatives, and since Draco was not too inclined to tell the truth about his father, he just went along with it.

No one would believe him anyway.

Fred, still half asleep, stared at Draco in a mixture of confusion and amusement. He had a story to tell the rest at breakfast now.

As the nurse cleaned his hand, the alcohol burned his hand. He flinched slightly but otherwise had no other reaction, and in the elevator, Draco had the quick temptation to press all the buttons. The longer it took to get to solitary, the better. But there were only three, it was hardly going to provide a delay. Just add more to his punishment. He still wondered what was in the basement.

There were really two versions of solitary, it seemed. One version was the crazy, dramatic kind, he guessed, that was overacted on TV. The other kind was simply just being in a room with a lock and about three babysitters armed with tranquilizers.

It wasn't very interesting but Draco figured it was quarantine and he'd had it plenty of times before, in the cellar, so this was nothing.

He remembered when things had started to change. He had been nine. Life up to that point wasn't exactly sunshine and roses, and his father was no less kind, but the fear hadn't been a permanent fixture.

And then one day his father, blind with rage, aimed his pistol at him and said, "I wish your mother never existed. I wouldn't have _you." _

Draco had rarely felt such fear as in that moment, but apparently his father had thought twice and bitterly withdrew his weapon. Killing children would have ruined the Malfoy name, after all.

But Lucius had said such things to Narcissa before and they were always easily forgiven. Why he had been angry in the first place, Draco was usually uncertain. Just that Draco was usually in the way, taking up too much space, something to unleash anger at.

The trouble was, the anger came about at times he usually could never predict.

When he was six, he received a birthday card. In it was a five pound note. _"Love, your Grandma and Papa,"_

He wanted to buy some sweets with it, and went to Father for permission.

"_Where did you get that?" It was the calm, cool sort of anger that Draco always feared._

"_In the bin. My name—"_

"_Nosy, good-for-nothing boy! How many times have I told you to keep out of my things? If it had been intended for you, you would have gotten it. Now if it was in the bin, do you think it was for you?"_

_Mutely, Draco shook his head._

"_You need to know, Draco, that things like that aren't okay. So I'm going to have to punish you. Bring me the snake."_

"_No, Daddy, please. I promise I won't do it again!"_

"_Bring me the snake or you'll have a whipping too."_

_One day in primary school, a man had come by and showed the class different kinds of snakes. Seeing that the cane his father used had a snake's head, Draco decided he would impress his father with his intelligence on the subject. Lucius told him to shut up about three seconds in, but was noticeably less harsh about it than usual._

"_Daddy, can I get a pet snake? I promise I'll take care of it and clean after it and everything! You like snakes too, right, daddy?"_

"_No. It's not worth throwing the money at. Children don't know how to care for things."_

_Draco paused, holding his disappointment back._

_Narcissa looked at her husband in a silent plea, and he sighed. "Fine, if you must, Draco."_

_He hadn't been able to believe his luck. But he shouldn't have expected his father to stick to what he said. Everything his father did was a strategy game. The snake was simply another weapon his father saved until he dealt his hand._

_Sobs racking his body, he went to a small plastic terrarium. In it was a small grass snake. The snake writhed in his hands and wrapped around his wrist, settling there comfortably. For a snake, Scorpius had been affectionate._

_He took the animal from his hand and held it disinterestedly for a moment, wondering where the charm had come from an creature who hadn't the sense to bite him or his daft son the moment it had been touched._

"_This, Draco," the man said calmly, the snake's head between his right thumb and two forefingers, and his left a few inches below, "is responsibility,"_

_With a clean turn, the snake's head snapped nearly clean off, and as the blood spattered upon his dress shirt, the bellows began. "Look what you've done! Clean it up!"_

"Hello again, Draco," Snape drawled, "You've got yourself in quite the mess."

He blinked at the doctor for a few moments, having to remember that he wasn't six anymore and that Scorpius the snake had been rotting and dead for nearly ten years.

Never mind the fact that he didn't remember those last ten years very clearly, he just supposed in theory, wherever this was, it must have been that long.

Then he thought of the first time he met Harry, behind the Malfoy's house, where he was shrouded by bushes. He had been nearly nine or ten then, he supposed.

"_I'm Harry, and I'm your cousin. Your dad doesn't like it very much that we're so close so we have to be quiet, but your mom's okay." Draco found himself wondering how he knew those things, and how he didn't know he had a cousin that lived a few houses over, but the boy didn't volunteer the information._

"_Want to play hide and seek? I know a good field, away from here. That way we won't get caught."_

_Draco hesitated. He always had to be home before Father._

_Harry gave him a crooked grin. "It's okay. I won't let you stay out too long, I'm not allowed to be here either. So c'mon. It'll be fun!"_

_So Draco did. And true to his word, Harry led him back to his house before Father got home, fifteen minutes before exactly, so he'd have time to wash away the dirt on his face and fix his unkempt hair. How Harry was able to tell, Draco never figured out, but they avoided disaster for a while, that way._

The memories resurrected paper tigers that followed him wherever he went, fluttering, snarling. It always hurt to remember these things, to remember this Harry.

"_We won't tell, Draco. I promise. Just come to the fair with me, it'll be fun!" So they did, and they stuffed themselves full of sweets and rode the ferris wheel a million times, always glad to stop at the top. It was almost like flying, if he pretended hard enough._

_That was the day Father found out. Some associates had been at the fair, and commented on Draco's presence. How odd it was for him to be out alone, barely ten years old._

_He spent a long time in the cellar for that._


	4. Chapter 4

Draco hadn't been in this office in what felt like a long time. He couldn't remember how long, though. The office was like something out of a library. Three shelves, ceiling-high, against each available wall, housed what looked like tomes of information. He wouldn't have been surprised if Snape had actually read them all, too.

"_You have a lot of books." Draco commented, the first time he'd seen the office. Granger would have gone mental._

"_Yes, I do, Draco." The man's gravelly voice rumbled. Snape, at first glance, was remarkably intimidating, with his dark eyes and hook nose. But Draco found him to be rather patient, taking him under his wing like a lost bird. _

"_Make sure to have your mom remember your medication, Draco. She probably misses you, not being able to visit. We wouldn't want you to have to come back here again."_

_Snape seemed to know that Draco's presence protected his mother. It wasn't just Harry he protected, it was his mother, too._

"_Okay." Draco pretended to agree._

_But sooner or later, that cellar door would be there again, and things would slowly get bad again._

The two armchairs were still there, and the desk beside them littered with papers. He caught his name on one of them. Reading those were forbidden, but Draco always wished he could sneak a peek.

"Draco, you know that if you were anyone else, you wouldn't be here right now. I am highly suggesting to you that you take this chance for us to help you as much as we can." Snape pulled him out of his lull.

The smell of the office lured a small detail of Hogwarts.

_Good, Draco—it's turning just the right colour—this is what your work _should _look like, Weasley. _

That voice was Snape. Draco frowned. Was Snape in Hogwarts too?

Snape looked down at him, and it was so familiar Draco was a little surprised. The man frowned and began sifting through the file in his hand, as if he hadn't memorized it before he even got there. Regardless of what Umbridge recommended, he wasn't putting the boy in solitary.

Draco was somewhat of a…special case to him.

"Do you still think about Hogwarts?" It was a sudden move, one Draco wasn't expecting just yet.

How long had it been? Days? Months? Years? Was time at all chronological when he managed to get back to Hogwarts, or did he take visits back in First Year as a sixteen-year-old?

He closed his eyes.

Snippets of whispers distracted him. Feathers just not ready to fall.

"_Scared, Potter?"_

"_You wish." _

His head began to flutter. The tigers were back.

"_Draco, I'm tired."_

Snarling,

"_You're always tired."_

Tearing at him,

"_I mean, of this. Hiding out. You show up with bruises every day and sometimes not at all and I wonder, did it happen this time?"_

"_Did what happen?"_

"_Did he kill you yet. Because it's either you or him, Draco, and goddammit I'm not letting Voldemort—"_

"_You're not taking yours either, are you? Look, Harry, I'm fine, alright?"_

"_Well, Draco, I think he's coming back soon. I can feel it."_

"_It's just the paper tigers, remember. You were the one who called it that. You think he's so dangerous, Harry, but he's, what? Smoke? Static? Monsters you made up?"_

"_Fuck, Draco, fuck, I told you he'd be back."_

_Draco stared, fear creeping into his veins. As much as he didn't want him to be, Harry was right. But Harry was talking of big things, scary things, of leaving and finding some way to fight back. Draco didn't want him to go._

"_Aren't you going to say anything?"_

"_You're lying, Harry."He whispered. _

_The hurt on his face sent daggers into Draco's chest. He was always supposed to believe Harry. It was them against the world._

Neverfuckingending paper tigers. It was the last time he'd ever seen Harry, and yet he had no idea how long it'd been. Disjointed memories. Useless to him.

He had nothing to tell Snape about Hogwarts now. After all, he was one of the many who wanted Draco to forget.

"I think our time's run out," Snape said eventually, after a few more attempts to start a dialogue. Even though he liked Snape, Draco was aware that keeping quiet was best with people who kept prescription pads on their desks and told others about their "delusions".

There were no nurses stationed by the door yet, but Snape said, "Wait a moment, I'll walk with you…I'll be watching you, so stay where I can see you."

He gave the dark-haired man a curt nod and, as the doctor was dialing the numbers on the phone, Draco left the office, strolling to just around the bend, where the elevator would be and…it would be so _easy _to slip down to the basement.

By the time Snape heard the familiar hum of the elevator he had been too late.

The elevator stopped at a jolt at the basement. It was pitch black; Draco couldn't see much more than a few inches in front of his face. Without thinking he had stepped off the elevator and soon only saw what he'd thought he'd forgotten.

Creatures, made of the darkness that lurked there, slithered around, their faint growls as close to his ears as the coldness that edged closer touched his skin. A face brushed against his own, the draining coldness reaching his core.

The elevator jolted again, and Snape was there, his hand outstretched. When yanking him inside the elevator, Draco watched as the creatures snarled, repelled by the light.

"Draco! I specifically told you—"

"_Dementors," _It was out before he thought about it. He himself was entirely sure what it was, but it was like pulling on a piece of string, he just needed something else, one more little thing to remind him and then his pieces would come back. Hogwarts would be his again.

"What did you say?" Snape said, his annoyance replaced with interest.

"Nothing," Draco paused. "Don't tell anyone I talked."

"Draco—"

The blonde turned away, lips set in a thin line, as though words would spill out otherwise.

"_He always stops talking when he's about to relapse." Narcissa braved her temperamental husband only for Draco then, before she stopped and withdrew into herself._

"_Then call Snape, Narcissa, because obviously you stopped caring about the fifth or sixth time you sent him back. I keep saying we should get a place for him, but no, you insist on coddling him,"_

"_You just want to forget about your own son. It's not his fault. It's yours."_

_Not even Draco could protect her from the blows to her side. Narcissa didn't try defending him again._

But he was gone and the next patient on his list—Hermione, being wheeled to the elevator by an aide—was already approaching him. She looked at him curiously and said, "Did something happen, Dr. Snape?"

He looked at her for a moment. "Nothing to be concerned about. How are we doing today?"

Umbridge gave Draco a dirty look before pushing him into the activity room. Group had already started but they were lenient on schedules it seemed.

"You're late. You should get docked points for that," said Pansy snidely.

Pansy really wasn't too different, either. Maybe that was a good thing. Maybe things were falling into place.


	5. Chapter 5

Minerva McGonagall gestured for Draco to sit down. "I've heard a lot about you, Draco. I can't say I'm glad to finally meet you here, but it is good to meet you."

So McGonagall was here too. This didn't surprise him as much as he thought. It seemed par for the course that everyone here was a person he already knew, in a way. He remained stoic when meeting her. He might not know that this McGonagall was like, but he knew what the other was like, and he wasn't terribly fond of her.

"_Late again, Draco? I'm afraid I'll have to take points for that."_

_Draco sneered. Of course she would, the Slytherins had been in the running for the cup for the last two weeks._

McGonagall began, "So I want us to go around and tell each other one thing we've made improvements on and one thing we think we need to still work on."

"Why don't you start?" snarked Pansy. The older woman was not as easily riled, and just gave her a smile.

"Well, Pansy, I think that I've made some improvements with how the dynamics are in the workplace here—" McGongall was also the scheduling manager, "—but I think that I could do better." Draco agreed. He thought giving Umbridge nonexistent hours and pay would be a splendid start.

Pansy rolled her eyes, and muttered under her breath, calling her a spinster who'd end up half-eaten by her stupid cats.

"Maybe, Pansy, but at least she won't be here. Unlike you," cracked Colin. It wasn't that funny, but Fred laughed anyway.

Draco was actually a little puzzled about why Pansy was there in the first place. She was a spoiled brat and threw temper tantrums but nothing about her seemed to particularly suggest she needed to be kept in a psychiatric institution.

_Draco saw a strange knickknack on the table, a ball of glass. "This yours?"_

_Crabb and Goyle shook their heads, looking suspiciously secretive. One of them may have been sprouting red hair._

"_Hm." He put it in his pocket. Perhaps it would be useful._

A crash interrupted him.

Pansy dashed out of the room, knocking the chair over. An aide followed shortly after. All McGonagall said that honesty was a good thing to follow by, but that tact was important too. Draco suspected she chose not to reprimand the others because of Pansy's comment.

"So you agree that she'll end up being here forever?" Fred asked slyly.

"Rather than talk about Pansy, Fred, how about we talk about you? How are you today? Did you have nightmares again?"

Fred's expression turned sour. "God, I really hate it when you people mix up our names. I mean it's funny at first but this is just getting ridiculous. Not to mention you have no sense of humor and won't let us anywhere near just a piece of gum."

No one else reacted aside from Draco, who looked confused. Surely, Fred was simply one of the Weasels?

"So it's George today?" McGonagall asked, beginning to write it down.

"No, it's fucking Percy. Of course it's George!"

For Merlin's sake, Draco thought. Were _all _the Weasels here?

This place was a fucking circus. He scowled. So far Atton wasn't the reprieve he had been hoping for.

Edging in a week and a half, dullness was setting in. In the beginning he hadn't known anyone and so the antics were new to him. Now nothing surprised him. Not even when Fred appeared with a new alter—female and younger. Ginny.

Draco wondered which ones of them were real and which were not. Was Ginny real? The girl Voldemort had taken in Second Year?

The others seemed to buy into it like it was some sort of class act—do the most you can to provoke a reaction, buy some time out of the boredom, but Draco remembered the Dementors. Snape had asked repeatedly about them, about what did he mean, but he said nothing. Mostly because he wasn't sure himself what the answers were.

Not in this place, anyway, where he knew less about than Hogwarts.

He was beginning to feel as though he'd never see it again. The night hung low, the familiar hum in the corridor mixed with Fred's low snores, the sounds melding seamlessly in the shadows.

A form appeared in the doorway. One that certainly wasn't the head nurse. It wasn't his father, that much he knew, because he always knew when his father was about to arrive.

No, this was…

Draco's heartbeat quickened as he watched the stranger come closer. He was frozen, unable to make a move or say a word.

"_Malfoy?" _he whispered, his eyes wild and intense.

Fred hadn't awoken, and he could hear Umbridge's humming in the hall. She managed to make humming even seem bad.

"Harry?" Draco responded, his heart beating faster now, but less out of fear and more out of trepidation, "Where have you been? I haven't seen—"

"Never mind that. You've got to get out of here, Draco. Get out before you're stuck here forever. Do you understand? Do whatever it takes."

"Where are we, Harry?"

The dark haired boy looked back as though he had heard something. "The dementors are coming for you. Day after tomorrow. There's no more time. Get out."

"How, Harry?" Draco asked desperately, grabbing the boy's hands, "How?"

The bulbs burst. One by one, and Draco could hear the growling. It wasn't the paper tigers.

Harry looked him in the eyes for a moment, the roving intensity within them temporarily stilled by the contact. "There's only one way, and it's not easy. I can't promise it'll work."

"I don't care." Draco blurted out, wincing at the sharpness in his tone, hoping no one would hear him.

"Did you stop taking your meds?"

The blonde nodded. The small pills were nestled securely within the watch.

"How many do you have?"

"Two, three weeks' worth."

"Good." Harry disentangled his hands, retrieving a flask from his pocket. "Take this with them."

Draco stayed silent, aware of what it meant. He supposed it made sense. Perhaps part of his soul was stuck here, and the only way to get it out was to extract himself out of dimensions entirely.

"Will you be here when I do?"

Harry sighed shakily. "I don't know. Getting here tonight was hard enough, I don't know how I managed. But you mustn't wait for me, understand?"

Umbridge's humming grew louder, interrupting them.

"I'd explain it all to you if I could, Draco, but I can't. Not right now. Please do as I say." He turned, as though readying to leave.

"I missed you, Harry. And I'm sorry, for lying. I believed you."

The boy turned around, an odd little smile on his face. "I know you did. It's always been you and me. Always."


	6. Chapter 6

If Draco were anyone else, the second time he opened his eyes he would have thought it was a dream.

Fred was already up and out of the room by the time he was awake. His bed was already made. He hoped he hadn't seen the bruise.

When he joined the rest out for breakfast, it was unusually noisy for the room only containing four people.

"Did you see anything?"

Had he even wanted to answer he wouldn't have been able to.

"Of course he did! Who wouldn't?"

He looked up at the nurse station. His brow furrowed. It was supposed to be Umbridge's shift until after breakfast.

"Fred went _mad _this morning_. _He was screaming at first and went after Umbridge, put his hands around her neck. They had to sedate him and _everything. _How in the bloody hell did you sleep through that? Umbridge actually quit!"

Ice hit his veins so fast it felt like he'd been doused in it. A familiar black silhouette approached him.

"Children!" Snape commanded, interjecting the conversation. "I need to talk to Draco alone. Perhaps the office would be better, Draco, so if you could, please?"

He shrugged and followed, attempting to hide his trepidation. He couldn't risk getting stuck with more supervision. _"There's no more time. Get out." _Harry's voice echoed.

"Sit down, please." Snape gestured. He hadn't been this formal to Draco since the first time they'd met. Nearly six years ago.

"Did you…_say…anything…_to Fred at all?"

His silvery hair was tangled and he was combing it out with his fingers, ignoring the question. Snape's stare kept drilling into him until he shook his head in response.

Snape walked him down the corridor, and as they entered the elevator, he held one arm out, keeping the door open and said, "Interesting, Draco, seeing as he said the same word you did to me a few days ago. You know where he is right now? Being transported to an actual hospital because he's about as responsive as…as a vegetable. He showed _no _signs up until last night, and the only connection I can find is you. But funny, no one saw you do a damn thing other than…Look, Draco—What. Did. You. Do? Did you rile him up or something last night, maybe? By accident, even?"

He could only stare, and offer a half-hearted shrug. For once he wasn't lying. He really didn't know.

Snape sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. "I shouldn't have told you, that was confidential information. I'm not done asking you questions. This incident really isn't going to look good for you right now."

Draco didn't care. As long as it meant he was alone tonight, that was all that mattered.

"You know, Draco, some of this is my fault, and for that I am deeply sorry. I treated you more like…a son or a friend rather than a patient, and I don't think on a professional level I was as effective as I could I have been. Your mother asked me to take you on, she didn't want your father involved, you see, and she trusted me." Snape murmured.

A wry chuckle escaped the room. "Yeah, he found out pretty fast." He said, remembering the sound he made when his arm broke.

"You're lucid right now, Draco, but you aren't always. I'm recommending increased supervision. Too much stress could cause a full break like last time—"

The blonde's form stiffened. "I'm fine, Snape. Really. I'm sorry about Fred, but I didn't do anything. Did Umbridge report something?"

Snape's eyes darkened, as though he found asking for her _corroboration_ an insult.

"Regardless, Draco, I believe it will be best if you're put under moderate supervision for now. I'll ask the nurse to check in on you a little more frequently."

His heart sank. That could mean anything. But still, it was better than 24/7 supervision. It just meant he had no room for error. Acting amicable would have made Snape suspicious, so Draco settled for a scowl and kept his mouth shut.

Somehow it seemed that there'd be no other way possible to get Draco to see the truth, unless he faced actual evidence. Evidence he knew he had, but had never wanted to use.

"The date of your first…sports game, forgive me for not calling it by your terms as I will not attempt to pronounce it,"

"First Quidditch game, yeah? Beginning of the year. I was ten."

Snape dug around for a key in his pocket, and unlocked one of the drawers in his desk.

Draco frowned.

Snape held up a videotape. "We recorded some things, when…when you first lapsed."

The blonde struggled to contain his curiosity. "Did you? I can't say I recall that."

Snape started the video after a few moments of fighting with the archaic television in his office. The screen turned on, and suddenly, there he was.

But at the time he should have been in the air, flying, at the time he shouldn't have even been on video—there was a mute Draco, in a corner, seemingly transfixed by…nothing.

"Look, just fast-forward to a time where I know I was in the air, I won't be there." Draco ignored the fact that he had just admitted to the very thing Snape was suspicious of.

Seven forty two. Two minutes after the game had started.

He shook his head, trying to focus on the video. Draco's face wrenched in confusion.

Seven forty-six. He'd definitely been in the air by then.

For every second, every minute, he was physically accounted for. There wasn't even a slight jump that suggested otherwise.

"That can't be right," Draco mumbled, staring at the screen. "It's not right! Let me out!" he roared, "I want out _now _Snape!"

The door burst open and his father was there, what was it with his timing—"You know what, dad? I am really sick of all these fucking unscheduled appointments so how 'bout you don't visit me at all? Fuck off! I hate you!"

Snape's eyebrows raised, a deep sorrow exploding in his chest. It was then that he realized he truly could not help the young man he'd grown fond of.

How could he?

Draco didn't even remember his father was dead. He didn't remember that he had killed someone.

The air was still, for a moment, as Harry watched his father stare at him with the same rage he'd had that day he killed the snake.

"Snape's here, and we're in the middle of a meeting." Draco snapped, something that usually would have earned a venomous response. But the blonde man simply turned and stalked away, eyeing Snape with the bitterness of defeat.

Draco took a few breaths. It was okay. He could calm himself. He could right things, so Snape didn't call security. He could fix things.

When he looked back, he saw the doctor sitting, as though frozen, at his desk, the dark eyes regarding him in a curiously sad manner. Draco didn't understand.

"Sorry, for blowing up, Dr. Snape. But I'm okay, now. I didn't really mean that, about the…the flying. You know that, right?"

He didn't respond.

"Please don't put me in solitary, Dr. Snape. Please." Draco whispered, the last word breaking as it left his lips.

"Someone must watch over you tonight, Draco. But as it is, there isn't any space. So I'll be staying here. You can stay in your usual room, but that's all I'm going to promise. Understand?"

_He was so fucked._

"I understand, Dr. Snape." Draco whispered, hiding the frustration welling up in his eyes.

"Good," was all the doctor could say. Just how much had he fucked up Draco Malfoy's chances of every getting out? Snape had no idea.


	7. Chapter 7

Despite the theatrics earlier that afternoon, the day had passed with little event. Mostly because Draco chose not to acknowledge anything. The staff regarded him a little more seriously, but that was all.

He kept trying to figure out his plan.

The pills were relatively small, but potent. Mixed with alcohol, there was the risk of vomiting them up before they settled, though he'd hoped to skip over that entirely and slip into unconsciousness as soon as possible.

He didn't really know what to expect, and it wasn't as though he could casually mosey up and ask what to expect when one downs a bottle of benzodiazepines and a beverage with the highest alcohol content Harry could find.

But it had to work. It _had _to. He had to get back to Hogwarts.

He wasn't sure if Snape was still paying attention, but it had been a few hours. He focused on making his breathing as steady as possible, feigning sleep.

"Draco, do you have everything?" a soft whisper greeted him.

He simply nodded lightly.

"Good. I'll distract him. You focus on what you need to do, and I'll try to come back to wait with you, understand?"

Draco confirmed it with a shaky smile of gratitude. He waited until Harry was out of his line of sight, listening for the telltale signs of chaos, but all seemed still.

Then, "He's gone off to the loo, I think. You're safe."

If Harry said he was safe, it had to be true. There wasn't anywhere else he ever was.

The pills were bitter and chalky, taking a few moments to get down. As soon as the pocket watch was clear, he downed the flask as fast as possible, nearly choking on the taste.

When he was finished, he buried the items under his pillow, drawing the blankets up to his chin, wondering when it would take effect.

"Now we wait?" Draco asked.

"Now we wait." Harry murmured, taking his hand. Snape evidently was not back, otherwise he would have to go. He didn't want Harry to go.

"Harry," the blonde murmured, "Where did you go? Before?"

The dark-haired boy smiled lightly. "Hogwarts, of course. It's just like you described it, Draco. But better."

"Does anyone miss me?" he asked, thinking of his housemates, of his parents.

"They think you've gone mad in Azkaban. You remember what that is?"

"With the dementors?"

"Mhm. You refuse to say anything, Draco. Refuse to stand up for yourself. But how can you, when you're here?"

Draco's head was beginning to feel fuzzy, his heart racing even faster. The grip on Harry slackened. "Harry, I feel…"

"It's okay. It'll be okay. Let it happen." Harry soothed, his hand not moving, "I'm here."

Snape was returning to his seat when he saw Draco's head move slightly, and the sound of low murmuring. He caught a name. _Harry._

Rushing over to the boy, he caught him as he was beginning to slip in and out of consciousness, still looking past the doctor, like there was someone else there. He was about to call to the nurse when a loud screeching filled the room.

The fire alarm. Sometimes they got pulled for kicks, so Snape ignored it, rushing to the nurse who should have been on the phone with the fire department. She was, instead, staring in horror at the tall disfigured boy and the fire behind him that was quickly spreading, starting from the main pathway to the front windows.

He grabbed her, telling her to grab who she could and lead them out the fire exit. But the woman's eyes teared up, and he followed her gaze down the corridor. It seemed much longer now, much darker and sinister, billowing smoke pressing the patients to the walls with loud, terrified wails.

The restrooms. The restrooms were fine. "Take as many as you can into the bathrooms, I'm grabbing Draco," he said, pushing the woman behind him as Fred swayed on his feet, seemingly unaware of the fire crawling up the walls, encircling him. He made no motion to move, the gas can in his hand fallen and beginning to crumble.

Snape had a choice. It was Draco or Fred.

He made the move toward Draco's room. It was the wrong choice.

Fred leapt at him, pinning him to the ground, some sense of lucidity in his eyes now, but not enough to make sense to Snape. _"You need to let us die, Snape. You need to let us die so we can go home."_

The man tried to push him off. Fred recoiled with rage. _"Sectumsepra sound familiar, Snape?" _

He was acutely aware of a roaring pain in his abdomen, but he didn't quite understand until he saw the stab wound left behind. And another, and another.

Draco couldn't have known what was going to happen to Snape or to the others in the ward. He was barely aware of it as it was occurring.

Harry did appear feel regret for this, regret that he could only spare one person from suffering.

The blonde was thankful that he was there. Harry knew just by the look in his eyes.

"I think I'm going to go soon," Draco whispered, something so quiet he wasn't sure if it came out at all. But Harry heard.

"I'll be waiting, Draco."

The last he remembered of anything was that Potter-shade of green.

o-o-o-o-o-o-o

_Epilogue_

A small gathering after the fire was all that was left of those that had perished. Narcissa Malfoy was one of the few attendees to the funeral after the Atton Hospital fire.

A couple she vaguely recognized as the Grangers couldn't keep composure and left early.

There were a few other parents, but none she could clearly recall. Lucius didn't exactly encourage networking with those affiliated with the hospital; Narcissa's meetings with Snape had often been planned in secret.

She recognized some of Snape's acquaintances. Lily Evans. Minerva McGonagall. She did not say hello to them. Out of shame, mostly. Though it had not been her son that caused the fire, plenty of people had something to say about Draco's theoretical contribution to the plan, given that Fred Weasley had been his roommate.

Her son was condemned as a murderer. That much was clear. He had killed his own father, a highly successful man who supposedly loved his son despite all of his ailments. Narcissa was the one of the few to know otherwise.

There was also plenty of backlash on the hospital's account, for allowing such a tragedy to happen. No one on the first floor survived. Somehow the media managed to find a few people to interview, trying to put the pieces together, using Draco as a way to entrap others' morbid curiosity.

Later, after the short speech, Minerva found her nursing a drink. "I'm sorry about your son, Narcissa. He was a good boy. I liked him, quite a bit."

The woman smiled softly, straightening her posture. It would not do to cry. "Thank you, that's kind of you to say."

Narcissa wanted to believe such sentiments like he would be better off, he was in a better place, but she could not. They were foolish.

All she could really believe, with every ounce of her soul, was that no one should have to bury their only child.


	8. Author's Note

_Author's Note_

This story was a bit of an experiment for me. I can't say I consider this one of my best or strongest works, but it was an interesting journey in that I delayed publishing it for two years because I couldn't decide what the hell I wanted to do.

Though there was plenty of opportunity for this story to go in a different direction—say, lead Draco back to his home and have this whole mess with Atton hospital just that, a mess. Some strange, alternate universe afflicted with an invented case of magic gone bad, a theme commonly employed in HP fics (including my own).

But I decided I wanted it to end differently. There was already such little background on the supposed magical universe Draco was supposed to be returning to that it didn't make sense to end it that way, unless I rewrote and restructured the story to incorporate more of the HP universe.

I don't think I will be tackling something quite like this again. It was heavier than I intended, and that is, in part, due to the inspiration to the story itself.

Pieces of Draco's upbringing and some of the character's mental health are pieces I took from real experiences (not my own), particularly the abuse. Very little, actually, was embellished in this regard.

I feel an obligation to include some resources for those that may be struggling with abuse or know someone who is. The sooner you offer your help, the more chances you are giving that individual to overcome the aftermath.

This is a list of US resources: . ?s=100

This is a list of UK resources: . /information-support/guides-to-support-and-services/abuse/all-types-of-abuse/

I am also available to talk to. You can send me a message through here or through these chat (AIM: remingtonrand; Skype: remingtonrand07)

Thank you for reading and reviewing!

-Remi


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